Those Murky Waters
by Spider Spider
Summary: HD SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.
1. It Begins with Rationalization

**Title**: Those Murky Waters

**Author**: Spider Spider 

**Summary**: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's notes**: I plan on updating this every Monday. Reviews bring me great joy!

**ooo**

**Chapter One**

_In which Harry is distracted, Ron has dreadful manners, and the library provides a book._

**ooo**

Kisses made sweet with desperation, limbs tangling together, smooth pale skin pressed against his own.

For the sixth day in a row Harry Potter woke up gasping in sticky sheets. He listened nervously to the sounds of the other boys moving around outside his bed curtains, and hoped they hadn't heard anything.

"Harry, we're going to miss breakfast if you don't hurry up," Ron called.

Harry grunted and pulled himself out of bed. Neville was frantically digging through his bag.

"Have you seen my potion's essay?" he asked Harry worriedly. "Fifteen inches, on the properties of sneezewort, I know I left it somewhere in here, but if I don't hand it in, Snape—" he broke off, apparently not wanting to even contemplate what the potions master would do.

Harry blinked groggily and shook his head.

"Maybe you left it in the common room again," Dean suggested.

"Oh, thank you," Neville said with relief and rushed downstairs.

Harry watched his roommates as they went about their morning routines. He wondered if they had as much trouble with their dreams as he did.

He knew that wet dreams were a fact of life, but he wasn't sure if it was normal to have so many of them. For the past six months or so it seemed like he couldn't go two nights without having one, and it was keeping him exhausted.

"Just stop thinking about it," he told himself blearily. "I've been worrying about this for weeks when there's no reason. It's just stress over all these damn potions essays."

**ooo**

The ceiling in the Great Hall was dark and cloudy, promising bad weather for the Slytherin Quidditch practice that evening. Harry woke up slightly at the thought of Malfoy trying to drill his team in the middle of a downpour.

Harry could just see him out in the freezing rain, yelling quidditch strategies at a sullen Crabbe and Goyle, his silver-blonde hair plastered to his head by the water.

"_Harry_"

He turned away from the Slytherin table to find Hermione and Ron looking at him expectantly.

"I said that you've seemed a little distracted lately," Hermione explained.

"Oh, yeah, I'm just a little tired. I haven't been sleeping very well," he said.

"What's the problem mate?" Ron asked.

"Er, you know, just having trouble sleeping," Harry said lamely.

Hermione looked as though she were going to pursue the topic further, but Ron unwittingly provided a distraction by shoveling a truly staggering amount of bacon into his mouth.

"Oh honestly Ron, could you at least _attempt_ to eat like a normal human being?"

Relieved, Harry turned back to his pancakes and eggs, but he couldn't help feeling that Hermione was right.

He had been distracted lately. Spending a couple nights a week locked in an erotic dream would have been no problem, but it seemed as though he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in ages.

It made it harder to pay attention in class, and Snape had taken off five points yesterday because Harry hadn't been able to recite the seven variations of the calming draught. Not that Snape wouldn't have found a way to take points even if he had been listening.

Harry wished that there were somebody he could ask about it, but he cringed at the thought of talking to Ron or Hermione, and asking Madame Pomfrey would be even worse.

"I'm just stressed over homework, and it's making me overreact," Harry told himself firmly as he followed Ron and Hermione into Transfigurations. "I need to stop worrying about this."

**ooo**

That didn't stop him when he startled awake early the next morning with yet another set of soiled sheets.

He sighed, then turned over and scowled up at the red canopy over his bed.

"This is perfectly normal, but I'm tired of thinking about this, so I'll go to the library. Just to reassure myself."

He glanced over at his alarm clock. He had nearly two hours before everyone else was awake, and although he could use all the sleep he could get, it would be worth making the trip just so that he could get this off his mind.

Harry got out of bed and, making sure not to disturb any of the other boys, quietly opened his trunk to get the invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map.

As he crept through the dark corridors to the library, he paused every so often to check that Filch was still prowling the dungeons with Mrs. Norris. He managed to reach the library without any trouble, but when he arrived he realized that he had almost no idea of where to find a book that would answer his question. For a moment he just stood and looked at the shelves and shelves of books in hopelessness.

In a muggle library, he could probably find something in the biology section, but he had no idea of what the wizarding equivalent would be.

He began to search randomly among the stacks of books for relevant-looking title, and almost an hour had passed before he finally struck gold.

Sort of.

_What's Happening to my Body? A Guide for Young Wizards _might have had the answers, but the title made him feel like a first year Hufflepuff and the cover was even worse.

"What am I doing here?" Harry asked himself. "There's no problem. I just need to masturbate more or get a girlfriend, and not worry so much."

He was turning to go when another book caught his eye. _The Human Body through Adolescence and Beyond_ didn't sound too horrible and had a reassuringly plain blue cover.

"Well, it couldn't hurt to check. At least I'll finally be able to stop stressing about it," he thought.

He flipped to the index, and found section titled "Nocturnal Emissions".

Harry read it, reread it, then slowly shut the book.

"Okay so most teenagers have less than one a week," he thought as he began making his way back to Gryffindor. "That doesn't really mean anything."

He tried to count how many he had usually had a week. Apparently way above average.

No wonder he was always so tired, he wasn't getting nearly as much sleep as everybody else. This wasn't normal.

Harry paused.

This wasn't _normal_.

It was magical.

Someone had cursed him. 


	2. Repression, anyone?

**Title**: Those Murky Waters

**Author**: Spider Spider

**Summary**: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's notes**: Yay! The site finally let me upload this from Microsoft word—so here is the chapter in all its intended glory :)

**ooo**

**Chapter Two**

_In which appear love potions, arithmancy friends, and Hermione, quite suddenly from behind a bookshelf_

**ooo**

That afternoon Harry spent his free period looking up love potions and aphrodisiac spells instead of doing the twenty inches on shrinking spells that McGonagall had given them.

Even though the N.E.W.T.s were well over a year away, the professors seemed intent on piling on the homework in preparation.

Unfortunately, Hermione was of the same mindset.

"Harry, that Transfigurations essay is due tomorrow, and you aren't even halfway done," she had said as he was leaving the common room. "Where are you going?"

"Can I come?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Ron! You don't even have 5 inches yet," Hermione said.

"It's okay, I'm just going to the library anyway. It'll, ummm, be easier to work there, with the, er, books and stuff . . . there," he finished awkwardly.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously.

"So, yeah, I'll just be going now," he said, retreating quickly through the portrait hole.

Harry pulled himself back to the present and looked despairingly at the books strewn about his table, all of which had proved to be useless. He thought that he might as well have stayed in the common room.

He hadn't found anything that matched his symptoms, though he hadn't been able to look through the restricted section yet. Maybe he would find something there to help him.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is: The Famous Harry Potter, savior of mudbloods and half-breeds," a voice drawled mockingly from behind him.

Harry gritted his teeth.

He didn't want to risk getting into another fight with Malfoy after what had happened last year. The git wasn't worth giving up Quidditch for, and even though Umbridge was gone now, Harry could still get in trouble. Hopefully, if he just ignored Malfoy, he would get bored and wander off.

But Malfoy didn't look as though he intended to leave. Instead he walked around to the side of the table, followed obediently by Crabbe and Goyle.

"_Aphrodite's Secrets_?" Malfoy smirked, picking up one of the books. "Finally realized that no one will voluntarily go within ten feet of your scarred face? Having to turn to love potions before you've even left school, why, that's pathetic even for you, Potter."

Crabbe and Goyle snickered.

Harry gripped his quill tightly and tried to block out Malfoy's voice.

"Let's see what precious Potter's been reading," Malfoy said, picking up another book and reading from it. "_Navigating the beautiful world of romance can be tricky, but with a few helpful spells as your compass, you can arrive at your own island paradise with that special witch or wizard you've been waiting for_. How sweet."

The Hufflepuffs sitting at the next table looked over curiously.

"Shove off Malfoy," Harry snarled, forgetting that he was supposed to be ignoring him.

"Oh, but this is too good. So tell me Potter, who's that special witch you've been waiting for? The mudblood? Maybe the weasel's baby sister?"

Harry gave up on ignoring Malfoy and began shoving books and parchment into his bag, trying to get out of the library before he lost his temper and started flinging hexes.

"Do you mind, Malfoy? Some of us have schoolwork to do," said a welcome voice, and Hermione stepped out from behind a row of books.

Harry grabbed his bag as Hermione pulled him towards the exit.

"Nice timing," Harry said as soon as they were out of the library, "but you didn't need to save me like that."

"I know I didn't, but he was getting on my nerves. I need to find an eighth source for my Arithmancy project, and I couldn't concentrate with him whining about love potions in the background," Hermione said.

They walked a little ways further in silence.

"Of course," Hermione said, pausing to look at him, "I didn't realize who he was talking to until I saw you. Why _were _you looking up love potions?"

Harry hesitated. He knew that Hermione was great with research, and would probably be a huge help in finding what was wrong with him, but . . .

"It's sort of embarrassing," he admitted.

"You know you don't have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, but if you think you might be under the influence of some sort of potion, you should at least go and talk to Madame Pomfrey or one of the professors."

Harry had the sudden and horrifying image of discussing his wet dreams with Professor McGonagall.

"Um, no, that's okay," he said.

"Harry, if you suspect a love potion, you really need to talk to somebody," Hermione said gently.

"Ummm, it might be nothing. I've just been having a lot of, you know, dreams lately," he said. "Much more than I used to and, er, apparently more than most boys do."

"Oh, okay. Do you mind telling me who the dreams are about? I wouldn't normally ask, but it's probably the same person who gave you the love potion," she said.

"I don't know. I never remember the dreams after I wake up."

"Really?" Hermione asked, looking puzzled. "That doesn't sound like a love potion, then."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, a love potion would center your desires on one person, and you'd be fully aware of that person and your desire for her. You can't remember anything about the dreams?"

Harry shook his head.

"Hmmmm," Hermione said. "That's a bit strange. You usually remember most of your other dreams."

"But those aren't really dreams. They're just part of my link with Voldemort," Harry pointed out.

"Still. How often do you have these dreams?"

Harry considered. "Um, about five or six times a week."

"And you never remember _anything _from them?"

"No, nothing. I just told you that," Harry said, feeling a bit frustrated.

Hermione said thoughtfully, "There might be something . . . I'll have to make sure. I need to do some research."

Harry sighed.

"Andros the Invincible," he told the Fat Lady, and he and Hermione walked into the common room.

Ron was playing chess with Seamus in front of the fire, and he froze when he saw Hermione.

But even errant boyfriends couldn't distract Hermione when she was in research mode, and she hurried up to her dorm without even mentioning Ron's Transfigurations Essay.

Ron let out the breath he'd been holding.

Seamus snorted.

"What?" Ron snapped.

"Nothing," grinned Seamus. "Just glad I don't have to deal with girls."

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. He had no real problem with Seamus' sexuality, but talking about it made him uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I'll see you later," Harry mumbled and went upstairs.

**ooo**

"Hi Ron, hi Harry," Hermione said breathlessly, sitting down next to them on the bench. "I think I've got the answer!"

"You mean to Harry's thing?" Ron asked. Harry had filled him in the night before, and it hadn't been half as bad as he thought it would. Ron didn't even seem to think that it was that big of deal, although he also thought it was strange that Harry couldn't remember who he was dreaming about.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice low. The Great Hall was packed with students happily eating their lunch, and Harry hadn't grown up with five brothers to rid him of embarrassment.

"Well actually we, as in me and Ron, won't need to talk about it," Hermione said, spooning some mashed potatoes and gravy onto her plate. "There's this boy in my arithmancy class, who says that he'd be glad to talk to Harry—"

"_You told someone else about this!_" Harry hissed.

"Calm down, I didn't tell him who you were, I just said a friend of mine."

Harry groaned.

"I thought that your problem might be psychological, not magical, and I don't know that much about psychology, so I needed to ask his help. But listen Harry, he said that it sounded like you're ashamed of the dreams on some level, and that you're repressing them, and that's why you can't remember any of them!"

"But you can't just decide to forget a dream," Ron said.

"Yeah," Harry agreed loudly.

"You don't do it on purpose, it's a subconscious reaction," Hermione explained. "Of course, this still doesn't explain why you have the dreams so often, but Stephen said that if he talked to Harry—"

"Stephen?" Harry asked warily.

"He's the boy in my arithmancy class, he just wants—"

"But you said he didn't know who I was!"

"He doesn't yet, he just wants to talk with 'my friend', and I think you should. It could really help us figure this out."

"I don't want to talk to some stranger about this," Harry said.

"He's not going to make judgments, Harry. He's really into psychology, so this just be a . . . a fun puzzle for him."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. It'll be like what playing a game of chess is to Ron, or quidditch is to you. Just talk to him."

Harry took another bite of his treacle tart, and said disgustedly, "I'd shag Malfoy first."

**ooo**


	3. Oh My! Reaction Formation!

**Title**: Those Murky Waters

**Author**: Spider Spider 

**Summary**: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's notes**: Oh dear, Harry is a total drama queen in this chapter and uses some naughty words to express his angst— so if cursing offends you, please do not read. As always, reviews are welcome!

**ooo**

**Chapter Three**

_In which the author overuses caps-lock and Harry disregards a revelation_

**ooo**

"So Harry, how are classes going?"

"Umm, fine I guess," Harry said, wondering what classes had to do with his dreams, and more importantly, what the hell he was doing here.

He was sitting in an empty classroom across from Stephen Cornfoot, a sixth year Ravenclaw with brown curls and square glasses, who had been asking Harry apparently random questions about his life for the past fifteen minutes.

"Good, good," Stephen said.

There was a brief pause while Stephen waited for Harry to say more.

Harry just stared back at him. He could be taking a nap right now.

"Alright, how about your friends then, are things going well with them? I know Hermione and Ron got together earlier this year. That can sometimes make people feel left out," he said.

"No, its fine," Harry said.

Stephen adjusted his glasses and looked down at his notepad. He had been jotting things down ever since he and Harry had started talking, although Harry didn't know how he had managed to take notes from the little that Harry had said.

"Okay, how's quidditch going?"

"Um, it's going well."

"You seemed a little upset at the end of the last game," Stephen said gently.

"Oh, it was just Malfoy."

"Ah. So Malfoy . . . upsets you?"

Only respect for Hermione kept Harry from rolling his eyes.

"That's one way to put it," he said.

"You two got into several fistfights last year."

Yeah, I know that, Harry thought. Why is he asking me all these questions?

"It's pretty simple: Malfoy and I hate each other," Harry explained, since Stephen didn't seem to fully understand. "But I don't get what this has to do with my . . . you know . . ."

"Yes, your dreams. They're just an effect of something that's going on deep inside your subconscious, and I'm talking to you to try and understand what that is," Stephen said. "It's a technique that was often used by Freud."

Harry snorted. He didn't much care how Freud treated his patients, and Stephen was beginning to annoy him with his junior-psychologist act.

Stephen ignored him.

"So why do you feel that you hate Malfoy?"

"Maybe because he's a prejudiced arsehole who's constantly insulting me and my friends?" Harry asked.

"Hmmm," Stephen said, jotting down more notes. "You seem to get irritated when I ask about Malfoy."

"Yes," said Harry slowly, "because I hate him."

"It's interesting that you have this strong of a reaction to him. I know Malfoy fairly well, and usually he only becomes spiteful when he wants someone's attention. Why do you think he so desperately wants attention from you?"

Harry glared. He should have guessed Stephen was a friend of Malfoy's. Forget respect, he was going to kill Hermione.

Stephen studied him. "You seem upset," he observed.

"I'm fine," Harry snapped. "I just don't think that this talk was a good idea."

"Why not? You were fine with it a little while ago."

"_I don't like talking about Malfoy_," Harry said.

"Why?"

"BECAUSE I HATE HIM!! I'VE ALREADY TOLD YOU! I CAN'T STAND HIM AND I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT HIM!" Harry shouted.

"Okay," Stephen said simply.

"Oh. Well . . . good," Harry said.

There was an awkward pause while Stephen wrote some notes and Harry tried to calm down.

"Look," Harry started, "sorry about yelling—"

"Don't worry about it," Stephen said, shuffling his papers. "I've discovered your problem."

Harry blinked.

"Oftentimes Harry, we don't want to know the truth about ourselves," Stephen said.

He paused, looking expectantly at Harry.

"Umm, okay," Harry said.

"So in order to protect ourselves from these truths, the subconscious uses a number of defense mechanisms: denial, suppression, projection and the like. Are you following me?"

Harry nodded.

"I think that you're using a defense mechanism called 'reaction formation'. Your subconscious is taking the thoughts that you deem unacceptable and reversing them."

"Okay," Harry said skeptically.

"During our session, you've done your best to emphasize your hatred for Draco Malfoy, but your hatred for Malfoy is merely the reversal of an unacceptable feeling."

"Er, I don't really see what you're getting at," Harry said.

"It's quite simple. Although I wouldn't go as far as to say love, you obviously have strong affectionate feelings for Malfoy—"

"_WHAT?!_" Harry screeched.

"—which have been deemed unacceptable by your subconscious—"

"ARE YOU MENTAL?! '_AFFECTIONATE_'?!"

"—perhaps as a result of homophobia or despair stemming from the differences between you and Malfoy—"

"WHAT THE FUCK?! YOU'RE COMPLETELY FUCKING MENTAL!"

"—and these homoerotic thoughts about Malfoy have been reversed into the idea—"

"_MALFOY?! _I'M NOT FUCKING GAY! I AM NOT FUCKING GAY!!"

"—that you hate Malfoy. Now these dreams you've been having are probably about Malfoy—"

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP!_"

"—and you've been employing another defense mechanism, repression, so that you don't have to face them. Now Harry, you seem a bit upset—"

But Harry, absolutely furious, had already stormed out of the classroom.

**ooo**


	4. Pure Denial

**Title**: Those Murky Waters

**Author**: Spider Spider 

**Summary**: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's notes**: Reviews make me squeal with HAPPINESS! So . . . please?

**ooo**

**Chapter Four**

_In which we explore the consequences of too little sleep and too many hormones_

**ooo**

Harry sat fuming in front of the fireplace, trying to ignore the sound of Ron rolling around on the floor, laughing himself sick.

"Just because Stephen wasn't able to help you doesn't mean that you should give up on psychology altogether, Harry," Hermione said.

"Yeah, if you quite now, you'll never have the chance to discover your mad love for Snape," Ron gasped.

"I'm serious Ron! Harry, I won't make you talk to anyone else, just look through my psychology books."

"Malfoy," Harry spat.

"Yes, Harry, he was obviously wrong, but I don't see why you're so angry about it."

Harry glared at her. "How would you feel if some idiot Ravenclaw said that you were," his face contorted in disgust, "_in love _with Malfoy! I don't even like boys!"

Ron howled.

"Stop it!" Harry snapped.

"I'm sorry mate," Ron wheezed, "but the look on your face . . ."

Tired of dealing with everyone, including his so-called friends, Harry stomped up the stairs and collapsed on his bed.

"Malfoy," Harry thought disgustedly, "just because I hate him. Stephen, that complete wanker, since when does hating someone, and I _hate_ Malfoy, mean that you like them. If Freud said that he should check himself into a psychiatric ward. I liked Cho —_Cho_, a girl. Not some Slytherin brat, especially not a _male_ Slytherin brat, and especially not _Draco fucking Malfoy_."

Harry turned over onto his back.

"_Reaction formation_," he snorted. "He thinks he's brilliant, but he's obviously fucking delusional. Stephen probably pulled that straight out of his arse."

"You know what," Harry said sitting up, "I _will_ borrow Hermione's books, so that I show Stephen what a fuckwit he really is."

Harry had a plan.

**ooo**

Harry was ensconced in a forgotten dusty corner of the library, skimming through Hermione's psychology books for something that would explain is dreams, and trying not to fall asleep. He couldn't imagine how Hermione actually enjoyed reading these.

He was supposed to be working on his Charms homework, then meet Ron and Hermione after dinner to do the psychology research, but he wanted to prove Stephen wrong himself.

The first thing he had done after borrowing the books was look up reaction formation, but to his disappointment, it did exist and was exactly as Stephen had explained.

But that didn't mean that he had suddenly developed some uncontrollable lust for Malfoy that was giving him wet dreams every night. He was straight, he knew he was straight. He had had a crush on Cho Chang for three years—three years for Christ's sake! And Stephen thought he spent his time subconsciously fantasizing about pale pointy Slytherin boys.

Harry shuddered.

Even having thoughts of sex and Malfoy in his head at the same time was doing strange things to the pit of Harry's stomach.

"Nauseating," he said.

"Talking to yourself, Potter?" Malfoy smirked.

Harry jumped. How the hell had Malfoy found him? Did he actively look for people to torment?

"They say it's one of the first signs of insanity, but then everyone already knows that the Boy Who Lived is losing it," he continued.

"Er . . ." Harry said, suddenly aware that he had just been thinking about sex and Malfoy. Or rather sex with Malfoy.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "'Er'? Have you suffered so many blows to the head that language is now beyond you?"

Harry opened his mouth to give a retort, but then Malfoy shifted, crossing his arms, and the collar of his robes gaped to provide a glimpse of the tender area where neck met shoulder.

"_Are you blushing?!_" Malfoy asked in disbelief.

"No!" Harry snapped, even as he felt his face heat up. This was all Stephen's fault.

"You are! You're blushing!" Malfoy crowed.

"I AM NOT BLUSHING!" Harry shouted desperately. "IT'S JUST A NECK!"

Malfoy stopped smirking and stared at him.

"You really have gone off the deep end," he sneered.

"I hate you," Harry said, to make it perfectly clear to himself and everyone else.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Oh Merlin, no, that one went straight to the heart," he drawled, and then walked away after a final sneer.

Harry turned back to the books with a new fervor. This needed to end now.

**ooo**

"No luck?" Hermione asked sympathetically when Harry plopped himself down on the bench at dinner.

"No," Harry said. He didn't tell her about the thing with Malfoy. That had just been weird. He saw necks every day after all. It had just startled him because it was Malfoy. He didn't usually see that part of Malfoy's neck, he didn't want to see that part of Malfoy's neck, and with his mind already filled with the images of what he might be dreaming . . .

Horrible images. Of what _Stephen _thought he was dreaming. But that he wasn't. Because he wasn't gay, and even if he were, which _he wasn't_, he wouldn't like Malfoy. Even if he did have a nice neck.

Wait.

Harry groaned, "I need to get some sleep. My mind is starting to play tricks on me."

"That's probably best," Hermione agreed. "You were running low on energy before you began researching in all your spare time. Why don't you go to bed early tonight and Ron and I will do some research without you?"

"I guess," Harry said.

"Yeah, you look pretty rough, mate," Ron said. "Go get some sleep."

**ooo**

"So I take it the extra sleep didn't help," Ron said, eying the newt mucus spilled down the front of Harry's robe.

"Don't ask," Harry warned, pushing his way through the crowd. The hall was filled with the students leaving Snape's N.E.W.T. potions class, as well as people like Ron who were meeting their friends.

"It wasn't all your fault Harry," Hermione said, trying to be comforting. "The potions _were_ very difficult today, and Snape's not a very patient teacher."

Snape's patience, or lack thereof, had nothing to do with it. He could have explained Scintillation Solutions at a pace Crabbe and Goyle could follow and Harry still would have been lost. After the episode in the library, he'd found himself noticing things about Malfoy that he never had before; things he didn't want to notice, like the soft line of his throat or the way his lips moved when he sneered.

Unfortunately, while Harry was doing things like staring avidly at Malfoy's mouth, _Malfoy! Of all people!_, the rest of the class was taking notes, and he had been completely lost when the time came to actually make the potion. His had come out a weird off-yellow while everyone else's was a bright green.

And to top it off, Malfoy had cast a trip jinx at him while they were leaving the classroom.

"God, I hate him," Harry thought angrily, tightening his fists.

He noticed Ron and Hermione sharing a worried look.

"You'd probably sleep better if you were more relaxed. Maybe you should take a night off from researching," Hermione suggested. "Catch up on your homework, drink some hot chocolate . . ."

"Hermione, no one but you finds homework relaxing," Ron said fondly. "What you need," he continued, turning to Harry, "is a nice bubble bath."

Harry snorted.

"It's what my mum always has us do!" Ron defended. "She fixed one every night for Percy when he was working on making it up with Dad."

"Ooh, and you can use the prefects' bathroom," Hermione said. "We can give you the password, and you already know where to find it."

"I thought you weren't allowed to do that," Harry pointed out.

"Like that's ever stopped you before," Ron said. "Come on, you can put a calming draught in the bathwater, and then you won't turn Neville into a toad again in Transfigurations tomorrow."

And so after a short stop at his dorm to pick up his things, Harry found himself standing in front of the prefects' bathroom, armed with a calming draught. But after trying the password several times without any result, he realized that the bathroom must already be in use.

Harry groaned.

He really didn't want to walk all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Hermione were apparently convinced that this bath would solve all his problems, and they would only make him walk back down after an hour or so to try again.

He knocked on the door, hoping that whoever was inside was finishing up.

"_Merlin_, I just got in here an hour ago! Hold on for two bloody minutes, alright?" came a muffled voice from the other side.

The voice was too distorted by the echoing of the bathroom for Harry to recognize, but it sounded annoyed at being interrupted.

Harry wondered if he should come back later. He didn't want to get Ron and Hermione in trouble.

"_Alright?_" came the voice again, obviously wanting a response.

Harry hesitated, not sure whether he should shout back or just leave.

The decision was made for him when the door was flung open to reveal Malfoy, looking irritated and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Erk," Harry said.

"I should have known it was you. Still haven't recovered your ability to speak?" Malfoy sneered.

I like girls, Harry thought desperately, trying not to watch the drops of water as they snaked their way down Malfoy's pale chest. He was still flushed from the bath, which had turned his skin a light pink, the same delicate shade as the dove hearts they sometimes had to use in Potions.

Malfoy blinked, and Harry noticed tiny droplets of water still clinging to his silver eyelashes.

"What . . . what are you doing?" Malfoy asked.

Too late, Harry realized that he'd been blatantly staring. He almost choked in horror.

"_Nothing! _ I mean, I was just standing here, trying to ignore your whiny voice," Harry said. As insults went, he had to admit that it was pretty bad, but he was desperate to say anything that would get them back into their safe familiar routine of rivalry.

Malfoy was still looking at him strangely.

"Yes, well as thrilling as that must be for you Potter, some us require more pleasurable stimulation than can be had by standing about uselessly in hallways. So if you'll excuse me, I'll return to my bath," he drawled, shutting the door in Harry's face.

Harry swallowed. The words _pleasurable stimulation _echoed in his mind.

"I am not attracted to Draco Malfoy," Harry told himself weakly.

**ooo**


	5. God, Harry! Projection too?

**Title**: Those Murky Waters

**Author**: Spider Spider

**Summary**: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's notes**: So those of you who listened to "Monster Mash" every Halloween as a child should recognize the name of the band Seamus is listening to. Ah, childhood memories. And remember: reviews equal good karma! ;)

**ooo**

**Chapter Five**

_In which Hogwarts students get some new gossip, Harry gets jealous, and various Hufflepuffs get trampled_

**ooo**

After spending a few minutes staring blankly at the door to the prefect's bathroom, it occurred to Harry that he should probably head back to Gryffindor.

"I was just checking out Draco Malfoy," he thought numbly.

He dragged his feet as he walked; he was not looking forward to Ron and Hermione's questions. They would undoubtedly ask why he hadn't taken his bath, and he would have to tell them that there was already someone in there, and they would ask who . . .

Harry's mind conjured up the image of Malfoy in his bath towel.

Malfoy's body had always been hidden. He was always so covered from neck to toe in voluminous robes that Harry hadn't even seen the bare skin of his _arms_ before today.

And to suddenly see him like that, with all of his expensive clothing peeled away—

Harry shivered at the memory. It was one of the hottest things he'd ever seen.

_But it shouldn't be!_, Harry reminded himself.

He had spent the past sixteen years of his life liking girls. He still liked girls. Although he hadn't thought of Cho since their disastrous relationship last year and he didn't have a crush on anyone, he still wanked to girls. He imagined Pavarti's long dark hair, the curve of her body, the soft swell of her breasts, or Ginny, with her red hair and red lips.

Sometimes he even thought that if things had been different, if Ginny had been interested . . . but she wasn't, she was happy with Luna, and anyway Ron would have pitched a fit.

Harry sighed and began walking up yet another flight of stairs.

So he still felt these things: he still was attracted to girls. So why had he been having all these thoughts, and about _Malfoy_?

Well, he knew why he was thinking about Malfoy. Stephen with his stupid questions and his stupid assumptions had put him into Harry's head. But why were thoughts about Malfoy affecting him this way?

Harry wondered if thinking about sex and Malfoy all the time was messing with his head. Could you accidentally turn yourself gay?

"Are you alright dear?" the Fat Lady asked after he had dragged himself up the final flight of stairs.

"Yeah," Harry said wearily. It seemed like everyone had been asking him that lately.

He told her the password and stepped into the common room.

He found Ron and Hermione on some chairs in the back, leafing through _Psychology and the Magical Life_. They looked up as he approached.

"You're back early," Hermione said.

"Er, yeah, I decided not to do the bath. I think I'll just go to bed instead."

He thought that Hermione was about to protest, but after looking him over she simply nodded and turned back to her book.

"Seamus has got the radio on," Ron warned. "So you'll need to get him to turn it off or put up a silencing spell."

Harry paused.

"_Seamus_," he said. Seamus was the solution to his problem! He was gay, and he had liked way more embarrassing people than Malfoy (Lockheart, anyone?) —not that he liked Malfoy, Harry reminded himself— anyway, Seamus would know what was going on, if anyone would. Harry nearly laughed out loud in relief.

Ron and Hermione were staring at him.

"Yeah, Seamus," Ron said slowly. "You might know him: blonde, Irish, been sharing a room with you for the past six years. Ring any bells?"

"Er, yeah," Harry smiled. "I just realized that I need to talk to him."

"Get some sleep Harry!" Ron called after him as Harry climbed the stairs to their dorm.

Harry walked in to find Seamus lying on his bed, flipping through a magazine. In the background, The Crypt Kicker Five were playing on the radio.

Seamus looked up and grinned when Harry walked over.

Harry mustered his courage and said, "Um, I wanted to talk to you about something".

"Oh? What about?" Seamus asked, scooting over.

Harry sat down next to him.

"Um . . . how did you know that you . . . er, that you were gay?" Harry asked awkwardly, not meeting Seamus' eyes.

Seamus raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's not like there was one particular moment where I was like 'Aha! I'm queer!'. I just always noticed men instead of women."

"Oh," Harry said, disappointed. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him.

"So were you just feeling curious, or . . ."

"No. I mean, I talked to this bloke who's really into psychology, and, er, he said that I subconsciously desired, um—"

Harry paused. It was harder to say than he had thought it would be, even though it wasn't true.

"Boys?" Seamus filled in.

"No, well, one particular boy, and even though I can't stand him, this boy, I've been having, um, thoughts about him."

"_Dirty thoughts?_" Seamus grinned.

"No! Well, I mean, yeah, I guess. But I've always liked girls, I mean I still like girls, even now, so I don't understand—"

"So maybe you're bisexual," Seamus said, cutting into his nervous rambling.

"Bisexual," Harry repeated faintly. It seemed so obvious now, but the thought had never occurred to him. He felt like an idiot.

"Sure. It doesn't always have to be one or the other. A lot of people like both."

"Oh."

"Then have I solved your sexual crisis?" Seamus asked teasingly.

"Yeah, I mean, thanks," Harry said.

"Hey, now that you're half-gay, do you want to have a coming out party? Dean has a bottle of firewhiskey in his trunk and Neville has those sweets that his gran sent him."

"Um, no thanks, I'm pretty tired. I think I'll just go to bed."

At Seamus' disappointed look, he added, "Maybe tomorrow, when I'm more used to this."

"Alright, it's a plan!" Seamus said, turning off the radio for him.

"Er, yeah, sure Seamus, but let's try and keep it pretty quiet, okay? I'm not sure I want everyone to know yet, and I definitely don't want the prophet getting wind of this."

"Don't worry," Seamus said cheerfully.

Harry grimaced and pulled the curtains around his bed.

Could he be bi? It made more sense than pretending that he hadn't been ogling his archenemy for the past few days. Maybe he had been noticing things about Malfoy, _God, his throat, his lips_, because he was the only boy that Harry had ever consciously associated with sex.

So maybe he did like boys, as well as girls. It made sense. Stephen had suggested that he was attracted to Malfoy, which had focused all of Harry's pent-up lust on the git.

For the first time in days, Harry smiled. He was safe. He didn't like Malfoy, he had just been confused, but now everything was going to be okay.

**ooo**

When Harry woke up the next morning, he felt well rested for the first time in ages. His dreams had been pleasant and completely nonsexual, for the first time since talking with Stephen.

Harry smiled and stretched, glancing at his clock. He had slept pretty late, even for a Saturday, and had missed breakfast.

Harry got dressed and wandered down into the common room, which was empty except for Ron and Hermione and a couple first years. Most students had probably already left for Hogsmeade.

Harry was surprised that Ron and Hermione hadn't already left. Since they had starting dating, they usually spent Hogsmeade weekends together, and Harry would go with Neville or one of his other friends.

"Morning," Harry said puzzledly, sitting down beside them.

They looked at each other, then looked back at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this Harry," Hermione began.

"Mate, Seamus is telling everyone that you're queer," Ron said bluntly.

"_What?_"

Hermione hurriedly said, "It's okay Harry, we know that you're not, and—"

"No! No, uh, I mean," Harry stopped and looked at his two best friends.

"This isn't how I wanted to tell you," he continued slowly.

"Wait, what? You mean it's true?" Ron asked. "And you told _Seamus_ before you told us?!"

"Well, he helped me figure it out," Harry said.

Seeing the looks on Ron and Hermione's faces, he added quickly, "I mean by talking to him about it, _just_ talking. And I just figured it out last night, it's not like I've known for a long time and been keeping it from you."

Harry groaned. "I just really wish that he hadn't told anyone. So does everyone in Gryffindor know?"

"I think that most of Hogwarts has heard the rumor by now," Hermione said gently. "But a lot of people probably don't believe it."

"Great," Harry said bleakly.

"Cheer up, mate, there're worse things that people could be saying about you," Ron said.

"I know," Harry said. "I just . . . I didn't want everyone to know so soon."

"Everyone would've found out and some point," Hermione said reasonably. "At least you're getting it over with."

"I guess," Harry said unenthusiastically.

"So, still coming to Hogsmeade?" Ron asked. "Neville and Ginny have already left, but you can come with us."

"Well, if you guys have a date or something . . ." Harry said, not wanting to intrude.

"No, its fine," said Hermione, "We can all go to the Three Broomsticks together. Get a butterbeer or something, just like old times."

Harry agreed, and together the three of them left the common room and started for Hogsmeade.

The castle was pretty deserted, except for a few of the younger students wandering about. A group of second year Ravenclaws stared and started whispering when the trio passed, but it was nothing that Harry couldn't handle.

He did start to feel nervous as they neared the gates of Hogsmeade, but he had started the day in a good mood, and he refused to let his fickle schoolmates ruin it.

All conversation ceased when they walked into the Three Broomsticks, but then Ron glared around and people began chattering guiltily. Sometimes it was handy to have a six foot tall best mate.

Ron and Hermione found a booth while Harry went to order their drinks.

"Harry!" Seamus cried, catching sight of him. "I thought you'd never show up—we need to plan your party."

"My party?" Harry asked.

"Your coming out party, remember?"

"I don't think I want a party Seamus," Harry said. "In fact, I didn't really want anyone to know that I was bi yet, but you've taken care of that."

"No need to get in a huff, I only told a few people," Seamus said. "I didn't know that it would get around the school so fast. And as for the party, at least let me buy you a butterbeer."

"Fine," Harry said resignedly. It was impossible to stay angry at Seamus for long.

"Fantastic," Seamus grinned, then, turning to Madam Rosmerta, "that'll be one large butterbeer for my friend Harry."

After Harry had gotten the drinks, including the one that Seamus had bought for him, he edged his way through the whispering crowd to where Ron and Hermione were sitting.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said as he handed her a butterbeer, "Are you doing alright?"

"Yeah," Harry said, ignoring a pair of Slytherins who were smirking at him. "It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."

"Hey, isn't that the bloke that was going on about Malfoy?" Ron asked suddenly, looking at the door.

Harry turned around, just in time to see Stephen Cornfoot settle into a table near the front. There were several other students with him, and they were all laughing and talking animatedly as they wrestled with cloaks and packages. But Harry only had eyes for a certain silver-blonde head.

Ron snorted, "Look! He's actually sitting with that git! He's the one acting like he's got a crush on the ferret, not Harry."

Harry blinked. Ron was only joking, but actually that made a sort of strange sense. There was something in one of those psychology books . . . but Harry couldn't remember.

"I'm sure they just have mutual friends or something," Hermione said, blushing slightly.

"No, he told me they were friends," Harry said slowly, still looking over at Malfoy.

That much would have been obvious even if Stephen hadn't told him. The two boys were seated next to each other and appeared to be ignoring the rest of the group, involved in their own private conversation.

"Well, he seemed nice enough," Hermione murmured guiltily.

Harry looked over and caught sight of her face.

"Don't worry about making me talk to him. I mean, I didn't enjoy it, but if I hadn't I might never have realized that I'm, you know, bi."

Hermione smiled weakly, "Thanks, Harry."

The conversation moved on, but after a while Harry found his attention drifting away from Ron and Hermione and towards Stephen and Malfoy again.

They were sharing one of the Three Broomsticks' infamous chocolate and caramel trolls, and Malfoy was laughing, his mouth smeared with chocolate. Harry didn't know if he'd ever noticed Malfoy laughing, really laughing, before.

He wanted to kiss him.

Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of unwanted thoughts. He didn't want to kiss Malfoy, he wanted to kiss a boy and Malfoy was the one that Stephen had suggested.

He watched as Malfoy pushed another sweet-loaded fork past his lips, drawing it back out empty.

Projection, Harry thought suddenly. That's what he had been trying to remember earlier, when Ron had said that Stephen was the one with a crush on Malfoy.

It was another one of Freud's defense mechanisms; he had noticed it when he was looking up reaction formation. It was a similar concept, only with projection you pushed your unwanted thoughts onto someone else instead of reversing them.

So, Harry thought angrily, if someone, say Stephen, has a crush on someone, say Malfoy, but doesn't want to admit it, he might push the crush onto someone else, say me, and claim that I'm the one with a crush on Malfoy because he's, say, a hypocritical bastard.

All this frustration and shame, just because Stephen couldn't deal with his own shit.

"You alright there, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry forced his gaze away from Malfoy and Stephen. Ron and Hermione were looking at him worriedly.

Harry heard Malfoy laugh again, and suddenly the thought of even being in the same room as the pair of them made him feel ill.

"Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"I don't feel very good. I think I'll head on back. No," Harry said abruptly as Ron and Hermione stood up with him. "You guys enjoy yourselves. I'll see you tonight."

Harry left the Three Broomsticks and strode angrily back through Hogsmeade towards the castle, ignoring the stares and whispers of his schoolmates.

He couldn't get over Stephen's hypocrisy. Telling him that _he _was the one with the fucking crush on Malfoy, sending him into three days of lust and self-loathing . . . the fucking bastard, with his notes and his _Freud_ and his fucking superiority.

Harry suddenly stopped and wheeled around, almost plowing over a group of third year Hufflepuffs who had been walking too closely behind him.

"Why the fuck should _I_ be the one to run away?" Harry said furiously, ignoring the Hufflepuffs' squeals of alarm. "_He's_ the one who's hiding his pathetic crush behind a wall of Freud and fancy terms."

Harry started walking determinedly back towards Hogsmeade.

I'll go back in there, he thought, and show Malfoy what a fucking joke his 'friend' really is.

Harry reached the outskirts of the town and slowed, coming to a realization.

In order to explain to Malfoy that Stephen had a crush on him, he would have to tell him how Stephen had thought that Harry was the one with a crush.

Harry stopped. It was completely idiotic, there was no way that he had a crush on Malfoy, but the Slytherin still might laugh at him for it. Plus the Three Broomsticks was packed right now, and coupled with the new gossip about his bisexuality . . .

I can't, Harry thought bitterly, turning around again. But I'll find Stephen when he's alone, and then I'll show him fucking _reaction formation_.

Ahead of him, the group of Hufflepuffs sped up, looking nervously over their shoulders.

**ooo**


	6. Regression and a Resolution

**Title**: Those Murky Waters

**Author**: Spider Spider

**Summary**: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's notes**: The last chapter! It's been a lot of fun writing this, and the reviews really helped—encouragement in my time of need :) Thank you all so much, especially Your Mom Is My Heart and Disco-Dancing on the Roof, who made me happy with numerous reviews!

**ooo**

**Chapter Six**

_In which we see a fight, a kiss (finally!), and a resolution._

**ooo**

The next day Harry finally found his opportunity to confront Stephen alone.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and most students were lazing about by the lake, but instead of enjoying the rare March sunshine like any normal person, Stephen was holed up in the library.

With almost all other the students outside, the library was practically deserted. Harry was able to find him easily, sitting at a small table covered with books.

He strode over angrily.

"Ah, Harry," Stephen said. "I was expecting to see you again, after all that was revealed in our last meeting. I was delighted to hear the news of your bisexuality. It takes a brave man to examine the murky waters of his own subconscious."

"You know what your problem is?" Harry began furiously. "You're so wrapped up in solving other people's problems that you can't see what's right fucking in front of you. But guess what? You're not the only one who can understand Freud: I did some research of my own and you know what I found out?"

"What?" Stephen asked, looking amused.

"_Projection_, arsehole. I _don't _like Malfoy. I've _never _liked Malfoy. It's hatred, pure and simple, but what's not so simple is your farce of a friendship. You're too much of a fucking _coward_ to face the fact that you have a crush on Malfoy," Harry said, his voice rising as he let out all of his frustration and anger. "_You_ are the one with the issues, not me! You're too pathetic to face your own stupid crush so you pushed that pile of shit onto _me_, so that _you_ wouldn't have to deal with it! For _three fucking days_ I was living in some fucking nightmare world where I had a crush on that FUCKER, ALL BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T DEAL WITH YOUR OWN FUCKING SHIT!"

Harry stopped, breathing heavily.

To his fury, Stephen was still sitting calmly in his chair, hands folded on top of the table.

"Now, do you feel better after relieving all that anger?" Stephen asked.

"NO I DO NOT FUCKING _FEEL BETTER_! DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID?!"

"Yes, I did, and I'm very pleased that you took the initiative to find out more about the common defense mechanisms. It shows a level of acceptance and progress that I had not hoped that you would achieve so soon," Stephen said, smiling at him as though he were a four year old who had managed to tie his shoelaces correctly.

Harry choked, too angry to get any words out.

"But in your sexual bewilderment you have once again denied your feelings for Draco, this time projecting the crush onto me."

"WHAT?! NO! _YOU'RE_ THE ONE WHO'S PROJECTING! YOU'VE GOT A CRUSH ON MALFOY–"

"No, Harry, can't you see–"

"SEE WHAT?!" Harry shouted, drowning out Stephen's excuses. "THAT YOU'RE A PATHETIC WANNA-BE FREUD WHO CAN'T SEE WHAT'S RIGHT FUCKING IN FRONT OF HIM?! WHO HAS THE FUCKING _NERVE _TO FUCK UP MY LIFE BECAUSE HE CAN'T DEAL WITH HIS?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT ME TO SEE?! WHO GAVE YOU THE FUCKING _RIGHT_?!"

"Harry–" Stephen began, but Harry turned and stormed away.

He was so sick of yelling; so tired of being furious and exhausted and ashamed. He just wanted to travel back in time five months, to before he had started having the dreams. Back to when he was comfortably heterosexual, could actually stay awake in class, and Malfoy was nothing more than an annoying git.

God, he just wanted everything to go back to the way it had been.

But it couldn't, and he was still angry and still tired and Malfoy still drew disgusting responses from him, and _he shouldn't feel like this_. Not about him.

Harry stopped outside the library, not sure where to go. He could go outside and join Ron and Hermione, but he didn't want to have to deal with the stares of the other students. He didn't want to go to the common room either.

The blonde shepherdess in a nearby portrait giggled, and he glared at her. She started, then became silent.

Harry exhaled angrily, annoyed with himself, and started decisively towards Gryffindor.

It wasn't the portrait's fault his life was shit right now, Harry reminded himself. He just needed to go back to his dorm and tuck himself away from the world before he snapped and took someone's head off.

"Potter!" a voice rang out suddenly in the stillness of the corridor.

Harry turned, coming face to face with the central figure in his current nightmarish existence.

"I want to talk to you," Draco Malfoy said, tilting his chin up arrogantly.

"Do you?" Harry gritted out through clenched teeth.

Malfoy looked startled for a moment before forcing his face into its usual sneer.

"Isn't that what I just said? Oh _so sorry_, do I have to make an appointment now? I suppose your adoring fans take up so much of your time—" he broke off as Harry's fist connected with his nose.

Harry grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes as the Slytherin began to fall backwards. He jerked the blonde to him and up, so that Malfoy's face was right in front of his, and the blonde was forced to stand on his tip-toes. Harry might not be as tall as Ron, but at least he had a few inches on Malfoy. At the moment it was giving him a vicious satisfaction.

"I am so fucking sick of you hounding me," Harry snarled into the Slytherin's face.

Malfoy ripped himself away, and staggered to lean on the nearby wall. "Maybe if you ever fucking listened—" he began angrily, but Harry barreled into him again.

Harry shoved him against the wall, Malfoy's head making a sharp crack as it knocked against the stone. He pulled himself back so that he could use his fists, but Malfoy got there first. Harry felt a white pain in his temple as Malfoy's fist connected. Harry brought his knee up into Malfoy's stomach. The blonde doubled over, and Harry used his advantage to knock Malfoy to the ground. Malfoy grunted as Harry landed on top of him. Harry tried to get his hands around the blonde's pale neck, but Malfoy grabbed a handful of his hair first and _pulled_.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy!" came a horrified voice from above them. "What do you think you are doing?!"

Harry froze, and Malfoy took advantage of his stillness to shove him off his body and onto the floor.

"_Mr. Malfoy!_"

"I was only getting him off, Professor," Malfoy said, holding his sleeve against his nose in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

Harry scrambled to his feet to meet the severe gaze of Professor McGonagall.

"I am very disappointed. You haven't had any fights all year, and I was under the impression that you had put these childish skirmishes behind you."

"I'm sorry . . ." Harry said guiltily. "I don't know I what happened. I just, I've been so tired and stressed, and then Malfoy—"

"He attacked me," Malfoy hissed, "with out the slightest provocation. He's gone completely mad."

"I find that highly unlikely, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said. "And as for you," she continued, turning to Harry, "stress and lack of sleep are no excuse for returning to such immature behavior. Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"But—"

"No 'but's, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter, I trust that you can walk Mr. Malfoy as far as the infirmary without any more of this nonsense. Really, I had expected better of two sixth year students!"

Professor McGonagall continued the lecture, but Harry stopped listening when, to his horror, his least-favorite Ravenclaw appeared at the end of the hallway.

"Erm, yes Professor," Harry said, cutting into her diatribe, "But I think it's urgent that we get Malfoy to the hospital wing right away, so I'll go ahead and take him. Come on, Malfoy."

Malfoy looked at Harry as though he had sprouted a second head. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"_Come on!_" Harry said desperately, grabbing Malfoy by the arm and dragging roughly him to his feet. Stephen was only a little ways away and was heading directly towards them. Harry didn't know what Stephen was going to do, but he had faith that whatever it was, it would only make the situation even worse.

"Get _off_!" Malfoy said, yanking his arm back.

"Mr. Potter! What has come over you? I have never seen such insolence," Professor McGonagall said sharply, "brawling in the hallway, interrupting a professor. I had hoped that you had matured beyond childish displays."

"I—" Harry began.

"Actually, under normal circumstances Harry is more mature," Stephen said, coming to stand beside Professor McGonagall.

"Pardon?" Professor McGonagall said.

"Let me explain, Professor," Stephen said.

"No," Harry groaned, "_please_ don't."

"Harry has been dealing with some complex issues lately, and it has taken its toll. He is under an incredible amount of stress due to the tension between his personal expectations and his desires, and this is not even taking into consideration the expectations of society itself, considering Harry is in a somewhat prevalent position in the wizarding world," Stephen said.

"Merlin, just get to the point," Malfoy said.

Harry was didn't know whether to run or stay and try to defend himself. Surely Stephen wouldn't say anything about Harry's supposed crush on Malfoy, not with Professor McGonagall, and god, Malfoy himself, standing _right there_.

"_Huh-hem_," Stephen said, clearing his throat. "The point is that this tension has resulted in Harry employing a number of Freud's classic defense mechanisms: rationalization, repression, reaction formation, projection, and the like. Here we see Harry _regressing_, or 'returning to an earlier stage of psychological development' according to the American Wizards' Psychology Foundation."

"Thank you for your input, Mr. Cornfoot, but Mr. Potter was fighting with a fellow student. As I have already informed him, stress is not an adequate excuse," Professor McGonagall said.

"No, that would be rationalization," Stephen said, then chuckled.

There was an awkward pause.

What the fuck? Harry thought.

McGonagall's face tightened. "Mr. Cornfoot—"

"Excuses, rationalization? Get it? It's a joke, playing on the definition of rationalization," Stephen explained, sobering.

"Mr. Cornfoot, if you don't mind, I am trying to speak with these students about their delinquent behavior," Professor McGonagall said, looking as though she was holding on to the last strand of her patience.

"But they don't need a scolding, they need _understanding_," Stephen said.

Oh god, Harry thought desperately, just make him leave.

"If you graduate and become a Hogwarts professor, then you may deal with trouble makers as you see fit, but until that day, I will decide whether a student needs to be understood or needs a detention," said Professor McGonagall.

"Be that as it may Professor, I consider it my moral duty to interfere, as you are not aware of the complexity of this situation," Stephen argued.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Cornfoot, I have been teaching now for nearly forty-five years. I assure that I am quite able to handle this task, and if you will not leave me to do my job, I will have to start deducting points."

"But this fight was not prompted by ordinary anger! Detention will solve nothing: Draco and Harry need to speak with each other and get to the root of their—"

"I _tried_ to do that, just like you said, and it worked like a flobberworm in pumpkin juice!" Malfoy burst in.

Stephen said, "Harry is in a very delicate condition right now—"

"I AM NOT DELICATE!" Harry yelled. God! Why the fuck was Stephen still here?!

"Moody much?" Malfoy sneered as Professor McGonagall said, "Mr. Potter! Please control yourself, and five points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Cornfoot. This has gone quite far enough!"

"It's a duty, Professor, a duty, and I will not abandon it. Harry is unstable emotionally due to the recent discovery of his true feelings for Draco, a discovery which has undermined the very foundation of his daily existence," Stephen continued.

No, no, no, no, no, no, Harry thought uselessly, no, he wouldn't.

"_Mr. Cornfoot!_"

"The discovery of his own irrepressible attraction for Draco Malfoy. A 'crush' to use the colloquial term."

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Oh god, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut in horror, he did not just say that, he did not just say that . . .

"It's a classic example of reaction formation," Stephen said helpfully into the shocked silence.

Professor McGonagall made a strange gurgled noise.

"Surprised, Professor? It's actually quite common, especially among persons who have trouble accepting their homosexuality. Quite fascinating, really."

Harry forced his eyes open. Stephen was studying at Professor McGonagall, who was moving her mouth uselessly, and Malfoy . . .

Harry forced himself to turn his head and look at him. Malfoy was staring at him in shock, looking as winded as when Harry had punched him in the stomach.

But there was something on Malfoy's face, almost like . . . hope?

"_You_ have a crush on _me_?" the blonde managed to gasp.

"I . . ." Harry was completely out of his depth. Did he like Malfoy? _Like _like Malfoy?

He looked wildly over at Stephen, who nodded encouragingly.

"I mean, maybe, I guess," Harry paused, looking into Malfoy's beautiful grey eyes, ". . . yeah," he breathed.

". . . oh," Malfoy said softly. He glanced over at Stephen.

Harry's face burned as remembered Malfoy and Stephen at the Three Broomsticks. God, he felt so stupid, how could he have forgotten?

Stephen nodded again, and Malfoy turned back to Harry.

"And," Malfoy said, uncharacteristically hesitant, "I like you, too."

Stunned, Harry looked over at Stephen . . . was this some kind of joke? He tried to keep down the feeling of elation rising through him.

Stephen just smiled.

"What on earth?" Professor McGonagall croaked.

"I think I'll walk the Professor to the hospital wing, she seems to be a bit unnerved. I suppose that you two will manage to carry on in my absence," Stephen said, raising an eyebrow.

"You _really_ like me?" Harry asked as Stephen led off a stuttering Professor McGonagall.

Malfoy shrugged, a slight blush staining his cheeks. "I'm not about to start giving you roses or anything," he said.

Harry laughed. Draco Malfoy _liked_ him, _Draco Malfoy_ liked him, and it was utterly perfect.

"Just so long as everything is clear," Malfoy said, smiling reluctantly.

"Completely," Harry said, drawing closer and touching his lips to the delicious pink curve of Malfoy's.

He felt the exhaustion of the past few days slough off like a used skin, and Malfoy tasted like winter and expensive sweets.

He lipped at Malfoy's mouth, careful not to brush his nose, until Malfoy grabbed the back of Harry's head and forced them closer together.

Perhaps, Harry thought distantly, as his hands pushed into Malfoy's black robes, and his tongue pushed into Malfoy's hot mouth . . . perhaps psychology isn't so bad, after all.

**ooo**

_the end_

**  
**


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